by A. C. Arthur
Noble looked over the rim of his glasses, without a moment’s hesitation. “I’m two years older than DeMarco and three times as smart.” He chuckled then so as to make his remark seem less snappy then Jerald had already recognized it to be.
“Ask the professor in our business class, or simply check our references again,” Noble continued as he moved around the office looking for something to tidy up, even though he knew there would be nothing out of place here. Jerald wouldn’t have been able to work if there was.
He looked at Jerald matter-of-factly when he’d finished his search. “Besides, Perch has a wonderful view and great food. You’ll be sitting on the terrace. Wow him with our city, order him exquisite food and excellent wine, and then take him for everything he’s got. Signed. Sealed. Delivered. All before Jackson returns from his honeymoon. It’ll be your wedding gift to him and that spitfire Ms. Tara.”
Jerald could only shake his head at his assistant of the last three years who had come highly recommended by DeMarco Argent—Jackson’s assistant who, though younger and less intelligent, was hired first. As the CEO of Carrington Enterprises, wining and dining clients was Jackson’s area of expertise. Jerald, on the other hand, preferred to deal solely with the numbers, making sure the company stayed in the black.
Last weekend Jackson had married Tara Sullivan after a dangerous meeting and what Jerald had called “an intense romance”. DeMarco had attempted to clear Jackson’s schedule for the two weeks he would be away but this deal was too important to postpone. This apparel company had risen fast over the last ten years gaining momentum with each new line it introduced, until six months ago when reports of its owner’s connection to a human trafficking ring made national news. Stock immediately began to plummet in Makisig Apparel, putting not only its warehouse in the Philippines at risk, but also the U.S. headquarters based here in Los Angeles and the other warehouse locations in jeopardy.
It was a fifty million dollar deal that Jackson wanted almost as much as he’d wanted to marry Tara. Holy matrimony won out and so the initial meeting with Makisig’s owner fell to Jerald.
“Send the updated stock rankings to my phone,” Jerald said lifting his bag and moving around his desk. “And the next time I tell you I want steak and potatoes, you’d better make sure that’s what I get. Or, unlike DeMarco, you’ll be in the unemployment line.”
He moved past Noble a second or so before the door to his office swung open, a woman with fire engine red hair and brilliant blue eyes entered quickly.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Carrington. I know you asked for these reports earlier today, but the copy machine on this floor was down. I went to the one downstairs but they’re auditing some huge company down there so I couldn’t cut in. I was going to try the one in the executive offices but that door was locked. So I had to wait for this one to be fixed and that just happened about a half hour ago and there were over a thousand pages to the reports so I’m just finishing. And I know you’re leaving for a meeting but I can have them delivered to your apartment so you can review them when you’re finished with your meeting. Or I can just bring them by myself. I know where your building is and it’s not out of my way. Or I can—”
“You can stop before you give yourself a mild coronary and Mr. Carrington a migraine,” Noble cut in.
He moved around Jerald to stand between him and Mandi. That was the woman’s name. She was a summer intern from UCLA.
“Take the reports to my desk,” Noble continued to tell her.
When Mandi opened her mouth as if she were about to speak again, Noble held up a single finger, shaking his head ever so slightly, causing Mandi’s opened mouth to close with a snap.
“Just go to my desk. I’ll be there momentarily and I’ll walk you personally to the copy center since it seems with all your wandering about the building you neglected to find yourself in the right place.”
Mandi was embarrassed, her cheeks immediately turning almost as red as her hair and Jerald frowned. He had asked for the reports hours ago and would have liked to see them before this meeting. Without another second’s hesitation Mandi left the office and Noble turned to look at Jerald.
“The summer intern program was DeMarco’s idea. So what were you saying about the unemployment line?” He’d arched a brow and then took himself and his notepad out of the office.
Jerald sighed. From day one Noble King had been a task, one he thought of firing about twenty times each day. But he never did, because as it turned out, the guy was pretty damned good at his job. And he had learned just about all of Jerald’s OCD habits in the first week of working here, being sure to follow each and every one from that point on. So the restaurant change was out of character for Noble, but since neither of them were used to Jerald having to meet with clients, he was willing to let it pass.
Because as it had been for the last month, Jerald’s mind was someplace else.
#
He stepped out of the shower, wrapping the fluffy beige towel around his waist and pushed his feet into his bathroom slippers. These were different from the fur-lined leather ones he wore around the apartment, as Jerald hated the thought of his bare feet on the same carpet and floors that the soles of his shoes moved across. The bathroom slippers were still of great quality leather, soft as butter, but minus the fur since he only used them when he was moving about the bathroom. The fact that his bare feet never touched the floor sort of defeated the purpose of the heated slate tile he’d insisted on being installed.
Jerald used another towel to dry his upper body as he walked into the master bedroom. The dark brown tones coupled with warmer beiges and those few burnt oranges that Lauren Asby—the designer that Jackson had referred—had insisted on. He’d originally thought the color would be too bright and would make his room look like a female resided there, but he’d been wrong. It turned out to be the warm and calming haven that he’d desired after working long, stressful hours to maintain the Carrington wealth.
He moved across the thick pile rug to his nightstand where he retrieved the remote control for the seventy-two inch flat screen mounted above the fireplace. Without a moment’s hesitation he turned on the television, simultaneously activating the DVD player and signaling the disc already inside because he’d watched it this morning before leaving for work.
His meeting was at six and it was almost five now. Jerald didn’t care. At this moment, as he sat down on his bed, eyes glued to the television, this was much more important.
The scene began with rolling waves crashing along the pristine beach as he stood on the balcony of his suite. He’d been practicing with the camera, making sure his equipment worked. In the next seconds she was standing there naked and beautiful. The best The Corporation had ever offered him.
But wasn’t that the entire purpose of the club in the first place?
He’d only just found out about the existence of the club created to fulfil any and every sexual desire in a professional atmosphere for anyone that could afford it. Jackson had been one of the masterminds behind the sordid and lucrative establishment. Jackson had also been an active member, as he’d admitted to Jerald and the rest of their family nine months ago. To keep from bringing scandal to their family and to thwart suspected blackmail efforts of one of their enemies, Jackson sold his shares in the company and months later became a married man. A fact which made Jerald the last single Carrington.
And the newest member of The Corporation.
Jerald watched her open for him again, saw the gorgeous folds of her pussy glistening with desire and waiting, for him. His body had reacted instantly, going harder than Jerald had ever experienced before or after the accident. Even now he clenched his teeth as his dick jumped in instant response.
When she wrapped her hands around his length, sliding the latex tightly onto his rod, Jerald actually gasped, again. He’d watched this episode over and over again in the last month, until every second of activity was emblazoned in his memory, until the girl on the beach became
the savior in his mind.
She was proof that all those nights he’d lain paralyzed in that bed wondering if he’d ever feel his legs again, or fuck another woman again, had come to an end. Sure, technically, the doctors had told him and his parents from the start that the paralysis would only be temporary, but Jerald had experienced his own doubts in that ten month rehabilitation period. And rightfully so, since afterwards, when the doctors had given him a clean bill of health and his family had praised every deity they knew for his complete recovery, he’d noticed something else. And he’d been devastated.
Inhaling deeply, watching as his thick length pistoned in and out of her soaking wet pussy, the sound echoing throughout his bedroom as he’d turned up the volume on the television, Jerald licked his lips, a quiet sigh escaping as he exhaled.
He’d never been harder than he had that night when he was buried deep inside her, never felt a release shake his entire body the way it had when he’d poured his cum into that condom wishing like hell it could have been shot deep inside her pussy instead.
Beneath the towel, the head of his dick poked through, eager to be inside that glorious pussy once more. But Jerald knew that was impossible. The women he slept with at The Corporation were one-time shots. Just the way he’d preferred. Even before joining the club, Jerald had functioned with a tried and true formula of professional women who recognized that sex was all they would get, payment to follow, and life moved on.
He wasn’t like his brothers. There would be no marriage and family and all that sappy emotional stuff for him, fate had assured that and Jerald had learned to live with it. The recordings had come later, after he’d joined The Corporation eight months ago. Just one of the perks the club offered for his executive level membership. He found he enjoyed watching his escapades with these women, enjoyed watching the proof that after all this time he was completely healed—even though in his mind he’d still remained skeptical.
Until now.
Until her.
She trembled when she came, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, eyes closed, and fingers gripping the sheet until she’d pulled them completely from the mattress. This was his favorite moment on the video, the seconds he’d waited each day, sometimes twice a day to witness. She was a very pretty woman, her orgasm made her gorgeous and unforgettable. The way her pussy had tightened around his dick, her essence had warmed every part of him as it poured out with her release, dripping onto the sheets that he’d touched longingly later that evening, all made him want to have her again and again.
Yet he hadn’t requested her. Hadn’t contacted The Corporation to find out who she was or when he could see her again. It wasn’t what he did and Jerald never wavered from the script. One night, one time, one release, one video. That was how he worked. That was all he needed.
#
Forty minutes later Jerald followed the hostess through the front entrance of the restaurant, back to the terrace level where the summer sun was still bright. He would have preferred to sit inside, not a particular fan of outdoor eating. Yet as uncomfortable as this made him feel, Jerald moved through the tables with his slow and steady gait, his shoulders squared, eyes not meeting anyone in particular through the dark lens Ray Ban sunglasses.
He took his seat and ordered a drink before accepting the menu, glad at least for the large umbrellas which had been opened and angled over the table. It provided a modicum of shade and for that he was grateful. If they were here, both Jason and Jack would have something humorous to say about him being a native Californian that disliked sunlight. They’d chuckle as they did some times when his idiosyncrasies were on full display, but Jerald would ignore them. As he had grown used to doing. He knew he was different and had allowed those differences to shape the man that he was today. The highly successful and driven man that had helped to build this company into what it was.
If he liked his ties aligned in symmetrical and color-coordinated order, so what. He had a brilliant mind for numbers and that’s all that mattered when it came to counting the money brought in by Carrington Enterprises on a yearly basis.
It was with that thought in mind that he put down the menu and stood as the hostess headed towards his table, a distinguished looking man traveling right behind her. Jerald quickly buttoned his jacket once again as he stood straight, extending a hand to who he knew was Ronnel Mendoza, CEO of Makisig Apparel.
The tall, slim, man wore a sand colored linen suit and a multi-colored scarf—which was probably from the collection he’d designed—draped around his neck. His once dark hair was now heavily sprinkled with gray and cut low.
“Hello,” he said to Jerald when he walked up to the table, accepting his hand for a hearty shake. “Mr. Carrington?”
“Yes,” Jerald replied with a nod. “I’m Jerald Carrington. My brother Jackson sends his apologies for missing this meeting. For some reason he seems to think a honeymoon is more important than business. Go figure.”
Jerald chuckled and watched as the man across from him did the same. Then his breath caught in his chest, the smile freezing in place as Mendoza stepped to the side and she looked up at him.
“This is Hailey Jefferson,” Mendoza announced casually. “She will join us.”
As the man pulled out the chair to the left of the one Jerald had been sitting in, Jerald searched for the words to say next. After seconds of holding his gaze, she gave a little shake of her head and then smiled—a brilliant smile that seemed much brighter than that of the nuisance sun above.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Carrington,” she said as she slipped into the seat. She looked up to Mendoza, giving him that smile now as well as a quiet thank you.
Mendoza nodded and took the seat across from Jerald, who was still standing, frozen in that spot and still staring at her…at Hailey.
She was as pretty as he remembered. Her sun-kissed skin vibrant and smooth, eyes slightly slanted and the color of perfectly aged brandy. Her hair, the curly mass he recollected had been splayed across the pillows of the hotel bed, was pulled back from her face tonight, being held with a colorful clip just above each ear. The dress she wore was white, cut low enough in the front so that his mouth watered at the sight of the delicious cleavage on display. Jerald could easily recall how heavy her breasts were in his hands and how dark and hard her nipples became after he’d licked them.
Clearing his throat, Jerald finally moved, unbuttoning his jacket once more and smoothing down his silk tie before taking his seat. It suddenly seemed much warmer than it had been out on this open deck.
“I will say first,” Mendoza began speaking moments after the waitress had taken their drink orders. “That I will not let you take my company and break it to pieces.”
Jerald let the quick kick of the vodka tonic he’d order slip down his throat as he listened to the older man’s words. Business would have to come first. That was a good thing, because it’s what he’d been prepared for tonight. Seeing her was not.
“Your company has over five million dollars in debt. You haven’t seen a profit in almost two years and orders to the U.S. stores have plummeted as a result of the accusations circulating about you and your employees,” Jerald stated calmly.
He’d read the official business profile Jackson had prepared when he’d first approached the board about acquiring the floundering clothing company. There’d also been two separate files on Mendoza—one, the official business profile and the other prepared by D&D Investigations who performed all of the background checks on persons of interests to Carrington Enterprises. He knew everything there was to know about the company and its owner, and most likely some things that Mendoza didn’t want him to know.
“They are all lies!” Mendoza said emphatically, before slamming his palm on the table. “They do not…there is…what do you say here?”
The man turned to Hailey then, looking at her in question.
“Proof,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.
She had been staring, Jerald
thought with a start, at him.
“They do not have proof,” she repeated with a nod to Mendoza as if she were telling him to repeat after her.
“Yes. No proof,” Mendoza said looking back at Jerald with raised brows. “Lies they tell to hurt my business.”
Jerald smoothed the edges of the napkin on the table. “I am neither judge nor jury, Mr. Mendoza. What I am is a businessman and when I see an opportunity for everyone to come out in the black, I take it. Now, as I mentioned earlier, your stock and your profits are falling steadily. This makes your company vulnerable for take over. Would you prefer if one of your rivals bought the company? House of Ginto, perhaps?”
The man’s lips thinned, his fists balling on the table. House of Ginto was run by an up and coming Filipino designer who was taking all of Mendoza’s previous business. The announcement two years ago that Mendoza’s company was paying its factory workers slave wages had struck a big blow to the company. Six months after that, when the International Labor Organization working together with the U.S. Department of Labor Investigators—because three of Mendoza’s warehouses were on U.S. soil—uncovered links from Mendoza and his top executives to a human trafficking ring running from the Philippines to the U.S., all hell literally broke loose. The stocks took a nose dive, stores immediately stopped shelving the two female clothing lines that catered to the working-class woman and the children’s line that they had just introduced.
Jackson had been watching the company since then, paying close attention to the other companies that were also taking a hard look at the faltering organization. Jerald found himself agreeing wholeheartedly with the message his brother had emailed to him this morning. “NOW IS THE TIME TO POUNCE!”
“Angeli Reyes and his golden touch with couture designs will not only dismember your name, he will rebuild on all the design ideas you started and make them his own,” Jerald continued, speaking calmly, yet succinctly as he went in for the kill. Mentioning the owner of the House of Ginto by name had pushed a personal button with Mendoza, just as he’d planned.